Life Left To Go
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series. The tag for 'All Hell Breaks Loose Part 2'. Wincest.


**Contains dialogue from the episode All Hell Breaks Loose Part 2, it belongs to Eric Kripke.  
**

**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page. They will make more sense if read in order. :)**

* * *

Sam can't keep the tears from streaming down his face as Dad smiles at them both, just smiles, and then glows white and disappears into the darkness. It doesn't feel real – none of it – and Sam doesn't have the mental capacity to wrap his head around everything right at this moment. But, even though he's never said it out loud, all Sam's ever wanted from his father is to feel like he's as proud of Sam as he always was of Dean. And that look on Dad's face, the glint in his eyes and the smile wrinkling his cheeks; now Sam feels it. Dad _is_ proud of him, of _them_, and suddenly it feels like everything he's ever sacrificed in pursuit of the demon they just killed was worth it. Everything about his life that Sam's spent so long being bitter about kind of melts away.

Dean walks over to where the demon's body is lying lifeless in the dirt, and Sam follows him automatically. He stares down at it, at the cause of almost everything bad that's ever happened to Sam and to his family, and doesn't even know what to feel. It's all too much. This is the thing that killed Jessica, and Mom. The thing that started _everything_. Sam should probably be happy it's finally dead, but he's just … overwhelmed. And then the look Dean gives him over the corpse of the thing that tore their lives apart is so full of meaning and emotion that it makes it hard for Sam to breathe.

"Check that off the to-do list," Dean says, with that signature Dean grin.

"You did it," Sam replies. He almost doesn't believe that this is all really happening. This moment has been twenty years in the making and there was a part of Sam that never truly believed it would end this way.

"I didn't do it alone."

Sam glances back over to where Dad was standing. "Do you think Dad really … you think he really climbed outta Hell?"

"The door was open." Dean looks over at the gate, and then walks around the demon's body to stand beside Sam. "If anyone's stubborn enough to do it, it'd be him."

Sam nods and smiles at him a little. He sort of wants to kiss Dean and cry and laugh and scream all at the same time. "Where do you think he is now?"

"I don't know," Dean answers softly.

"I kinda can't believe it, Dean. I mean … our whole lives, everything, has been prepping for this, and now I … I kinda don't know what to say."

Dean nods. "I do." He kneels down, gets face to face with the demon they've been hunting since Sam was six months old, and says, "That was for our mom, you son of a bitch."

It's so perfectly _Dean_ that it makes Sam smile, even as that overwhelmed feeling still has butterflies in his stomach and his skin itching underneath in a way he probably couldn't scratch out. It still feels completely surreal, like it's too much for Sam to process all at once. Then Dean stands up and pulls Sam into a hug, and Sam clings to him, not caring for a second that Bobby and Ellen are watching.

"We did it, Sammy," Dean whispers into his hair.

"Yeah," Sam breathes. "We did."

Sam is in a bit of a daze as Dean pulls away, like there's fog in his brain that hasn't cleared yet. He sort of blindly follows Dean, not sure where Dean's even going until he can see the Impala through the trees. There's something else nagging at Sam's brain, underneath the astonishment over finally finishing the war they were sucked into two decades ago, but it takes a few minutes for Sam to figure out what it is. It's blurry at first, just this undefined feeling of something being _wrong_, but then Sam's back itches, and when he reaches around to scratch at it, his fingers brush over the new scar and it all comes flooding back.

"You know, when Jake saw me, it was like he saw a ghost," he says quietly as he leans against the car, all the good feelings from before just dissolving into the cold, vacuum-suction feeling in the pit of his stomach over what he's terrified Dean might have done. "I mean, hell, you heard him, Dean. He said he killed me."

"Glad he was wrong."

"I don't think he was, Dean." Sam looks over at him, hoping to see some shred of evidence in Dean's face, but Dean's eyes are blank. "What happened, after I was stabbed?"

"I already told you."

"Not everything."

"Sam, we just killed the demon! Can we celebrate for a minute?"

Tears sting at the corners of Sam's eyes. Dean wouldn't be changing the subject if he didn't have something to hide. Sam _knows_ it. He knows exactly what Dean did. He's hoping to God that he's wrong, but he knows he isn't. And it makes him wish he was dead.

"Did I die?" he asks, his voice coming out weak and shaky and pathetic. "Did you sell your soul for me like Dad did for you?"

Dean sighs, and laughs humorlessly, and then he cries, "Oh, come on! No!"

"Tell me the truth. Dean, tell me the truth."

Dean just shakes his head and says, "Sam," but he did. He sold himself to save Sam. Sam can't believe it, it doesn't seem possible, but it's right there staring him in the face. His stomach churns; there's a hollow feeling in his gut like his body is trying to collapse in on itself. If he could wrench open that gate again and just jump right into Hell himself to stop this from happening, he would. Even torture would feel better than this, Sam's almost sure of it.

"How long did you get?" he asks, completely failing to keep the utter devastation out of his voice.

Dean just stares at him, and for a moment Sam thinks he's going to keep denying it, but then he says, "One year. I got one year."

Sam nods, blinking back tears. It's taking every ounce of strength he has left not to collapse into a pile on the ground. "You shouldn't'a done that. How could you do that?"

"Don't get mad at me." There's so much pain in Dean's eyes when he looks over at Sam that it breaks Sam's heart all over again. "Don't you do that. I had to. I had to look out for you. That's my job."

"And what d'you think my job is?" Sam asks incredulously.

Dean falters. "What?"

"You save my life over and over, I mean you sacrifice everything for me, don't you think I'd do the same for you?"

Dean looks genuinely surprised, like he really _didn't_ know all that, and it's like a knife to Sam's gut. Their whole adult lives, Sam's been telling Dean over and over again how much he loves him, how much he _needs_ him, but Dean never believes it's true.

"You're my big brother. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you," Sam promises. "And I don't care what it takes, I'm gonna get you outta this. Guess I gotta save your ass for a change."

"Yeah," Dean breathes, just a hint of a smile in his eyes, but Sam doesn't even bother hoping he's gotten through to Dean this time. Most of the time it seems like it doesn't matter what Sam says or does. Dean won't ever believe he's good enough to be worthy of Sam loving him as much as he does.

"Well, yellow-eyed demon might be dead, but a lot more got through that gate," Ellen's voice rings out behind them, and Sam turns around to see her and Bobby walking up.

"How many you think?" Dean asks.

"Hundred?" Sam suggests. "Maybe two hundred? It's an army. It's unleashed an army."

"Hope to hell you boys are ready," Bobby says. "'Cause the war's just begun."

Dean smiles. "Well, then." He walks over to the trunk and puts the Colt in with the rest of their guns. "We got work to do."

"Alright," Ellen says briskly. "Well, no time like right the hell now. What'a you guys say we go back to Bobby's and get on this?"

"I think it could wait 'til tomorrow," Bobby says, looking knowingly over at Sam and Dean in a way that makes Sam feel like the older man is looking right through them. "The boys could use a night off."

Ellen frowns, but she doesn't argue, and Sam's maybe never been more grateful for anything in his whole life. He knows they need to get a jump on everything, that something enormous is coming for them and they need to get ahead of it if they're going to stop it, but the last thing Sam wants right now is to be stuck in a house with Bobby and Ellen. He wants, _needs_, to be with Dean tonight.

"You two better be on my doorstep first thing," Bobby calls over his shoulder as he and Ellen walk back to his truck.

"We will," Dean answers.

* * *

Tears pour silently but steadily down Sam's face the whole time it takes Dean to find them a motel. Sam probably couldn't stop them if he tried, but he isn't trying. He doesn't think he's ever been this completely wrecked before. Not even when Jess died. Even after Dean pays and grabs their bags and more-or-less corrals Sam into the room, Sam still can't stop. His head aches and his chest aches and he feels like he's going to be sick, and all he wants to do is fall face-first onto the bed and sob until he shrivels up and dies. Nothing is ever going to be okay ever again.

Dean closes the door behind them, drops the duffels to the ground, and then he walks over to Sam and cups Sam's face in his hands. He wipes at the wetness on Sam's cheeks with his thumbs, and then he pulls Sam down and kisses him. His lips are soft and gentle against Sam's and Sam wants so much to just melt into it but he can't. Not when his whole world feels like it's ending.

"Sam," Dean whispers, but Sam shakes his head and pulls away.

He opens his mouth but no words come out. He doesn't know what he would say anyway, even if his throat wasn't closed up like it is.

"C'mon," Dean pleads softly, putting his hands on Sam's hips from behind him and resting his forehead against Sam's shoulder. "I know, alright? I get it. I really do. But just … Bobby gave us the night off, let's just take it, okay? Please."

"We can't!" Sam cries, finally finding his voice again even if speaking feels like gargling razorblades. "We can't just sit here pretending nothing happened, Dean!"

"I – I know," Dean says heavily. He forces Sam to turn around and cups his face again, a pained expression in his eyes. "I know that. And I'm not pretending anything. But it's already done. There's nothing we can do about it now, and there's for sure nothing we can do about it tonight. So let's just put it away, just for now. This is what we do, right? When things get heavy? We …"

Sam glares. He resists the urge to shove Dean away from him on principle alone. "What? We fuck?"

"Not exactly what I was gonna say."

"What were you gonna say?"

"It doesn't matter."

"I don't care," Sam returns argumentatively. "Tell me anyway."

Dean sighs. "I don't know. I would've gone with, maybe we … find comfort in each other? _Love_ each other? Because I do, Sammy."

"You do what?" Sam asks, confused.

"I …" Dean takes a deep breath and then looks right into Sam's eyes. "I do … love you. I love you."

For a long, long time, Sam has been telling himself he doesn't need to hear Dean say that. Somewhere, just below the surface of the hard shell Dean's constructed around himself for protection, Sam always knew Dean felt it, so he never thought he really needed to hear it spoken out loud. It was enough, or so he thought, that Dean was so fiercely devoted to him, that he was always willing to sacrifice anything and everything to keep Sam safe and happy. That he's so gentle and caring with Sam when they're together in the dark, touching him and holding him with almost reverence, like Sam was something precious and rare and invaluable, something that deserved to be worshiped. That he put every single one of Sam's needs and wants before his own, always the last person on his own list as he did everything but move mountains to make sure Sam was taken care of. He sold his soul to the devil to bring Sam back to life. If that isn't love, Sam doesn't know what is.

But, as Dean's words float through the air and into Sam's ears, as the weight of them settles deep in Sam's gut like lead, he realizes he was wrong. He's _always_ needed to hear Dean say that, as selfish as that may be, and suddenly it's like everything is different. Better. Utterly amazing. And then, the reality of everything else that happened tonight comes crashing back in, and Sam just shatters.

"No," he mumbles brokenly, actually pushing Dean away this time as more tears stream down his face. "No, you can't. This _can't_ be the first time you say that to me! Not after what you did! What am I supposed to do with that?!"

"I … I don't know," Dean whispers. "M'sorry."

"You sold your soul to a _demon_ to bring me back! I mean, fuck, Dean! What the hell could I have ever done to deserve that kinda sacrifice? That's fucking insane!"

"Yeah, well. I guess being in love makes you insane."

Sam glares at him again. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Say shit like that! Stupid chick-flicky crap you think I wanna hear just so I'll shut up about this! I want a real answer!"

"Well I can't give you one!" Dean explodes, finally losing his temper and throwing his arms out to his sides in frustration. "I told you why I did it, it's not my problem if that answer wasn't good enough for you! What the fuck else do you want me to say?"

Sam doesn't know how to answer that question. He turns away again, but like before, Dean doesn't let him go. He slides his arms around Sam's waist and pulls Sam into his chest, and this time Sam doesn't fight him.

"Do you remember Evan Hudson?" Dean asks quietly.

Sam does remember him, and he knows where Dean's going with this before he even says it. "Don't."

"When we first met him, I thought he was a fucking idiot," Dean says, ignoring Sam's plea for him not to go there. "He loved his wife so much that he was willing to spend the rest of eternity in Hell just to keep her from being taken away from him. And I didn't get it, until I was there too. And then it was the only choice that made any sense."

Sam shakes his head, crying so hard he can't even speak again, and Dean walks around him and pulls him down onto the bed, blanketing Sam's body with his own and kissing him hard, and Sam can't do anything but let it happen. It would hurt too much to push Dean away again, and Sam's heart is filled to the brim with all the hurt it can handle right now without it just bursting in his chest.

He manages to calm himself down just a little, but the wetness doesn't leave his eyes all the way through it, and he doesn't have the energy to care or try to reign himself back in. Dean kisses him with his whole heart and soul, Sam can feel it pouring off him in waves like tar that sticks to him and melds with his skin and won't let him breathe. Sam still can't get his head around it all. It's Dean's _soul_ – the spark inside him that makes him who he is, makes him laugh at stupid jokes and tear up when he talks about Mom and love the feeling he gets from saving people from monsters – and he used it as a bargaining chip, as payment to a demon to bring Sam back from the dead. The heat from Dean's body, the smell of his skin and the feeling of him pressed against Sam, usually makes Sam feel whole again in a way that nothing else can. But this time, under the weight of everything else, it just crumbles Sam to dust.

Dean pulls their clothes off and gets them under the sheets, stroking Sam's cock slowly until Sam's whole body tingles pleasantly, and kissing him like he doesn't remember how to stop. He opens Sam up gently and preps him so thoroughly Sam's head spins and his insides burn up until there's nothing left of him but the pieces Dean's only just managing to hold together. And then Dean pushes inside him, somehow sewing up Sam's wounds as he does but at the same time ripping them wide open. Sam holds on to him, keeping Dean close while they rock together, and Dean kisses away his tears and grinds the tip of his cock against Sam's prostate and does everything he can probably think of to take the pain away but it doesn't work. It's never _not_ worked before and that just makes the tears come faster.

"I love you," Dean whispers when it's over. "So much, baby boy. Always have."

Sam's got his head pillowed on Dean's chest and Dean's arms are around him, cradling him and stroking gently, lovingly, through his hair. It's comfortable and safe and warm but Sam still feels so torn apart and broken open that if Dean's arms weren't around him, he knows he'd be falling apart. He isn't used to hearing Dean say that yet; it still floors him like it did the first time. And even though it makes him unbearably sad, it also ignites something fierce and fiery deep in his gut. Dean loves him. Dean _loves_ him, and even though deep down Sam always knew that, everything is different now that it's been said out loud. And there's no way Sam's giving that up now.


End file.
